


The Domestic Detective: A Story through Drabbles

by englandwouldfalljohn



Series: The Domestic Detective: A Drabble Collection [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Boys Kissing, Captain John Watson, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Insecure Sherlock, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Nipple Licking, Oblivious Sherlock, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Petulant Sherlock, Post-Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Rimming, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Top Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Work In Progress, accidental pda at a crime scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: A fluffy Johnlock lovestory, told through a consecutive series of drabbles. Because sometimes we need extra warm fuzzies in our lives. Rating will almost certainly go up as the chapters progress. (I'm a slut for smut, what can I say.)





	1. Dim Sum

**Author's Note:**

> This was a series of individually posted drabbles, but it's going to be longer than anticipated and a single, multi-chapter work makes more sense now. Forgive me, friends - a lot on my mind these days :)

"It was a good shot," Sherlock admitted between bites of steamed dumpling. John turned away, a humble grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You know," the blogger said, "people don't shoot strange cabbies for men they've just met. In their real lives."

"Don't they?" the detective asked without looking up from his lo mein. "What do they do, then, _in their_ _real lives_?"

"Have jobs. Spend time with friends." John lowered his voice. "Go on dates."

Sherlock glanced up at the candle on the table, then over to John, and finally back at his meal. He smiled.

"Dull."


	2. Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's date is canceled. Sherlock pretends he didn't know.

Sherlock eyed John's worn green jumper. "I suspect even Susan – "

"Sarah."

" – has higher expectations for date night."

The older man maintained his absent gaze onto the bustle of Friday evening Baker Street. "Apparently, being nearly murdered by Chinese antique smugglers puts her off," he explained sarcastically.

Something below caught his attention. "Why is the delivery bloke from my favorite pizza…"

Sherlock was already waving cash in John's direction.

"Of course." John took the money and headed for the stairwell, shouting over his shoulder, "Why exactly do I have to – "

"Pants, Jawn."

 _Right_ , John giggled despite himself.  _Pants_.


	3. Wool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a new makeshift pillow.

John opened the morning paper with a flick of his wrist and took a long draw from his steaming mug.

"Day?" came a muffled voice from the sofa.

"Sunday," John answered cheerfully, glancing briefly at his flatmate, then doing a double take. " What are you…?" he queried, noticing the cream-colored lump under the detective's head.

No response. He walked to the coffee table and sat facing his flatmate's back.

"Sherlock, I know you're awake. Are you… sleeping on my jumper?"

"No."

"Sherlock."

"Technically yes. But it's not…"

"What?"

"It's… for a case."

John stood, paused a moment, then indulged the impulse to tousle those silky curls before returning to his tea.

Assuming John was once again engrossed in the paper, Sherlock buried his face in the blogger-scented wool, and sighed.


	4. Milk, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock isn't so observant. Awkward moment ensues.

John walked through the sitting room door, dropped the soggy carrier bags on the floor, and sighed.

"Milk. Forgot the milk. Ow, hey!"

"Oh, John," Sherlock looked up from his book, startled. "Why are you all wet?"

Before John could remove his jacket, something blue and sticky just below his lip caught the detective's eye. He leaned down for closer examination. _Unlikely to be harmful, but still…_ Just as he rubbed his thumb over John's chin to remove the substance, the shorter man jerked his head upward, closing the distance between their lips. Sherlock pulled away in shock.

"J-Jawn?"

After a moment of confusion, John noticed the thumb now covered in toothpaste, and dashed down the stairs into the icy curtain of rain.


	5. Milk, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John returns to Baker Street.

London was dark by the time John worked up the nerve to return to Baker Street. As he hung his coat upon the hook, now heavily soaked with winter rain, he listened. Nothing.  _Right. Good._

Moving cautiously into the kitchen, he filled the kettle. He could face this. He could face Sherlock. So long as it could be done after tea. As he reached for a mug, a torn piece of notebook paper fluttered to the floor.

 

_J –_

_At Bart's, expect will be quite late. Fresh milk in fridge._

_– S_

 

Opening the refrigerator, John stared at the unopened, uncompromised carton of milk on the door. No bouquet of roses had ever spoken such volumes.


	6. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case got in the way. Now resuming life at 221B.

A case had come in and it'd taken a full three nights to catch the culprit. In an attempt to counterbalance his severe lack of sleep, John Watson unwound in a scalding shower until he could hardly breathe for the steam filling the room. Thoroughly relaxed and bathrobe-clad, he took a few steps toward the kitchen and promptly dropped the towel he'd been using to dry his  _definitely not greying_ hair.

Sherlock, seeming to not have slept at all, jumped up and rushed toward the doorway.

"Oh, good, John, about time, I need – "

His blogger slowly stood to face him. Disheveled greying-blond hair, skin pink from the shower. An easy smile spread across the older man's face.

It was all the invitation Sherlock needed.


	7. Kiss

Before either knew exactly what was happening, Sherlock had forced his flatmate against the wall, one arm wrapped around his waist, tongue flicking devilishly into his mouth.

After a few minutes, John managed to come up for air. "Sherl – "

"Mmm."

"Are you sure – "

"S'long as you don't expect me to… you know…"

_You know? No, I don't know. Does he not want a relationship? Or for this to be public? Or is it… does he not want to go… further?_

"No… I… I don't know."

Sherlock sighed and took half a step back. "John," he said seriously, "you can't possibly expect me to  _keep_  remembering to buy milk."


	8. No Excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock forgot that no one knew about him and John. Now Lestrade is curious.

"Let's go, Jawn," Sherlock whined. The case was barely a three.

The consulting detective tugged John's sleeve at the wrist, dislodging his hand from his jacket pocket. He slipped his own cool, dry fingers between the blogger's warmer ones, hailed a taxi with his free hand, and slid into the back seat without breaking the connection.

Only John caught the wide-eyed expression on DI Lestrade's face as they departed the crime scene, and was therefore unsurprised to hear the message tone on his mobile a few minutes later.

_Pub at 7. No excuses._


	9. Violin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's about to meet Greg, who suspects the residents of 221B are more than flatmates. He wants to know what Sherlock thinks.

John pulled his jacket on and straightened his sleeves beneath it. Reaching for the door handle, he tried one more time.

"I need to know what you want me to say."

Sherlock's eyes rolled dramatically. "Just tell Gavin the truth."

"And that would be?"

"That it's none of his business," the detective snapped, facing the window and examining his violin.

"You know that won't work," John sighed.

"Fine, then. Deny it."

John shook his head wearily, noting that he would definitely be late. "If that's what you want."

He was answered by moody, overly-complicated tune. But just as he shut the door behind him, he heard a sad voice murmur, "It's what you all want."


	10. Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides to be honest.

"Seriously? No, I don't believe it. I mean I do believe it, but… I don't believe it."

John shrugged at his half-empty third pint. "Well, Greg. Believe it."

"But how can you… I mean, he's not even… well, ok, I suppose it's possible, but… Sorry mate, I just…" Lestrade gave a low whistle and took a long sip of his beer.

John looked absently at the match on the tv above the bar. "Just do me a favor, yeah? Maybe don't mention this to anyone yet? Things are still – I just need a bit more time."

"'Course, mate.  _Shit_." Lestrade shook his head and joined John in pretending to watch rugby.  _Shit_ …


	11. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't want to know what John told Lestrade about them. *sigh* Ok, fine, he does.

"I know you're awake," he directed at the Sherlock-shaped lump on the sofa.

"M'not. Mind palace. Go 'way," came the petulant response through the fluffy indigo duvet.

"Sherlock," John tried again, hanging his coat and willing the lazy git to roll over.

"Whaddyou tell 'im."

"The truth."

Sherlock sat bolt upright, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his blogger. "What truth?" he asked cautiously.

"You know," John tilted his head slightly toward his flatmate. "That I'm falling in love with you. Tea?"

He strode off into the kitchen, rather pleased with himself. It was a rare moment when Sherlock Holmes could be rendered speechless.


	12. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't talk about feelings.

Sherlock sat back from his microscope. "John. I, um, what you… said. Before."

"Mhmm," John replied without looking up from the skillet. "Before" had been a few weeks ago – _almost a month,_ John suddenly realized. After some initial awkwardness, the pair had resumed normal life at Baker Street, albeit in rather closer proximity.

"I've thought about it, and it…"

"I caught you off-guard," John stated matter-of-factly, turning to face Sherlock.

The detective flinched in confirmation. "I want you to know that I'm… it's not that I don't also…"

"I know," John interrupted.

"I know you _know…_ "

John placed his hand on a thin shoulder. "I do know. And it's fine."

"Well of course it's _fine._ "

"Sherlock," John insisted, tipping the man's atypically unshaven chin upward, forcing their eyes to meet. "It's all fine."


	13. Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is staring into his detective's eyes. And he decided that the rating is going up a little ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (We're getting very close to the smut, my loves. There will be some fluffy smut, some smutty smut, and then we'll head back into fluff territory, I should think. Just a heads up.)

John's eyes drifted down to that pale pink cupid's bow. The room faded around him until all that remained was a plush, slightly trembling lower lip. He heard his name, a hushed echo, as the tip of his desperate tongue slid across that perfect lip and into a warm, eager mouth.

He sank slowly onto Sherlock's lap, only aware of the feel of soft curls and sensitive scalp beneath his fingertips, of the inimitable moan barely escaping from his partner's throat before John greedily swallowed it whole, wanting everything _everything_ of Sherlock inside him.

_Inside._ The word played on a loop in his mind. It was not something he had ever desired, ever even considered, before. But now – _now_ – there could be nothing he craved more.


	14. Porcelain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, the boys have made it to Sherlock's bedroom...

Swanlike neck arching toward his bedroom ceiling, Sherlock gasped for air. How they had even made it to the bed in a tangle of limbs and lips and lust was a mystery. He was writhing, griping the sheets, and John had not even touched him yet. A strong, insistent tongue traced over his Adam's apple, pressed into his pulse point, wrapped around his earlobe before John bit down with a low growl.

"Jawwwwn… Jawn, I…"

War-hardened hands slid under the hem of his fading grey t-shirt, inching slowly over every muscle, lifting the cotton hindrance up Sherlock's torso and out of the way. John grabbed hold of the fabric bundled around that impossibly long neck and drew his soon-to-be lover toward him, rolling his hips teasingly as he straddled the detective's lap.

Somehow – Sherlock still didn't seem to grasp the physics of any of this – dressing gown, t-shirt, and army jersey had all been discarded onto the floor, leaving Captain John Watson's chest flush against his own, forcing him back onto the mattress, a practiced tongue winding it's way back down that endless expanse of porcelain.


	15. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up, so Sherlock is being.. well, Sherlock.

"I want you." John's breath was hot on his neck. "I need you."

Sherlock arched his back involuntarily, the words sinking into his mind as fingertips sank beneath the elastic of his pants.

"I need you, Sherlock. All of you. Every last inch."

The detective's eyes popped open at that. _He couldn't mean…_

"If you're willing. Now let's see what I'm _up against_ ," John added playfully, tugging expensive fabric away from jutting hipbones.

A sudden rush of fear gripped the younger man, sending him rushing toward the headboard as if he'd been scalded.

"Wait!" he almost shouted, failing to mask his panic. He exhaled shakily. "Wait."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, darling readers! Thing about being an adult - sometimes life gets rather adulty. (Morning sickness, vacations, family visits... what can you do, eh?) Anyway - happy to be back here with all you lovely people in Johnlock land :) Several installments coming in the next week, promise!


	16. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it's not just transport, is it?

John was totally bewildered. _What did I… I barely even said… Maybe he doesn't really want this… or… me?_

"No, John," Sherlock answered, "it's not that."

_Bloody mind-reader._

"It's not my fault that line below your left eye crinkles when you… Not the point."

John laid a light hand on the other's knee.

"Care to let me in on 'the point' then?" He inquired quietly.

"The point is," Sherlock began, biting intensely on his lower lip and addressing the nightstand. "The point is, I haven't… well, it's just transport, isn't it, and since no one ever… not that I've been _saving myself_ or any of that sentimental trash, but in the course of events…"

A broad grin broke across John's face. For all the boffin's bravado, it came down to something this simple in the end.

"You're a virgin."


	17. Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John took a gamble.

"Now what?"

"Do you trust me?"

"I suppose."

John sighed. _Good enough._ "Take off my pants."

"I don't know that either of us are exactly – "

"Oh just… bloody well do it, ok?"

Sherlock considered the wall for a moment, then slid between John's legs and unceremoniously removed his boxers, tossing them aside.

"Do you see?"

"Yes, John. I adequately killed the mood for both of us, and thank you _so much_ for underscoring that fact."

"You really are an idiot, aren't you?"

"John, I fail to see how insulting me at this juncture can in any way – "

"LOOK." John pointed to the inside of his right thigh. There, in the detective's very own careless script, were the initials 'SH.'


	18. Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smoll!lock, but just a little :)

Sherlock rubbed a calloused thumb across the tattooed flesh, not acknowledging the tear that had fallen on the spot a moment before.

"John, I…"

"I've never done this with a man before, so in a way, it's the first time for both of us."

"Is this your only… you don't have any other tattoos currently, but have you ever – "

John chuckled. "No, I have not had anyone else's name tattooed and removed."

Sherlock was silent for what felt to his blogger like an eternity. When he met John's gaze again, a trace of the earlier fear had returned.

"Why?"


	19. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's answer and Sherlock's reaction

"Are you really ready to hear it?"

Another long pause.

"I… no. I don't think… Not yet, no."

While Sherlock returned to contemplating the unexpected promise – _that's what it is,_ he realized – John trailed his index finger along a razorblade cheekbone. Just as his hand was about to trace the stubble along Sherlock's jaw, however, the face was gone.

There was a split second of confusion before John felt the pressure of a not-so-gentle tongue against his recently branded skin. He forced his head off the pillows and swallowed the moan rising in his throat.

"Sh-Sherl, you don't have to – "

The eyes that flicked up to his own had turned violently green. The sight of those otherworldly irises flashing behind a stray raven curl made John's already thickening cock jerk with desire.

John felt rather than saw Sherlock's smile, and as that increasingly-confident tongue rolled once more against his thigh, he managed one final coherent thought: _he was worth the risk._


	20. Vatican Cameos

"You said…" John clamored for breath. "You said… never… did…"

_Bloody Sherlock Holmes_ was playing him like a violin, every string taut, nearly ready to snap beneath his masterful hands. And mouth. _Oh god, how can he possibly… I'm not going to…_

"Stop, please, Sherlock!"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, sliding lower between the thighs now hooked over his slender shoulders. "John Watson begging. That's a sound I could get used to," he punctuated his point by dipping the tip of his tongue almost forcefully into John's wantonly stretching hole, earning him a high-pitched moan barely stifled by the other man's fist in his mouth.

"P-please, Sher… s-stop… I... V-Vatican Cameos!"

The detective giggled despite himself, rising up on his elbows to meet his lover's eye.

"Ok, I give. But surely we can do better than _that._ "


	21. Yes

He rested his head back onto the pillows with a contented sigh, relishing the lingering taste of soft, pink lips – and a hint of himself, he though blushing.

"Now," Sherlock inquired, feigning patience poorly, "why did I stop?"

"When we were… in the kitchen. There was… I realized something that I've never wanted, and I…"

"Oh truly, John, it'd be quicker if I just deduced it. Considering the activities in which I was engaging, and your favorable responses to them – "

"That's an understatement," John chuckled nervously.

"If that's not what you were after, but it made you – oh. OH." The younger man's eyes grew wide, his mouth forming a perfect circle, while his blogger squirmed self-consciously beneath him.

"You… want me to…"

"Only," John sighed, trying to find someplace neutral to look and settling on a freckle near Sherlock's clavicle, "only if you wa- "

Seventy-eight kilos of consulting detective pinned him fiercely to the mattress as a desperate tongue sought admission once again to his (always) eagerly awaiting mouth.

_Yes, John._

They both heard the answer, though not a word had been spoken.

_Yes, yes, yes._


	22. Heat

John breathed in the sinewy body caging in his own. Traces of mandarin and ginger, earl grey, a cigarette snuck sometime in the night. And heat, rising off skin just before it begins to sweat. The burn of long slender fingers was more than he’d anticipated, and while he felt himself loosening, preparing to accept the man he wanted, craved, absolutely required as though he were oxygen himself, he also felt the anxiety rising. He needed something. A distraction.

“Sh-sher- please… would you maybe…”

Dark auburn stubble met his own, then began to drag, inch by tantalizing inch, down his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long hiatus, but i'm back now :) this is just a meandering fic, so if you have any requests - even just a chapter title you'd like me to play with - shout 'em out!


	23. Steady

The scratch of a second-day beard scraping across skin sensitive with alertness, the scent of posh shampoo wafting, making him dizzy with stimulus and desire and -

“John, I promise, it won’t be… I’ll make it…” 

A contradiction to the steady hands, the controlled pace. A contradiction that John realized could only be born out of that peculiar tenderness that arises between two people who have opened themselves fully, honestly. Who are  _ both _ taking the risk. 

John inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to focus on feeling his partner above him, within him, stretching him with such patience, such attention. He had never been treated so reverently in his life, and as he exhaled, his anxiety was released with his breath. 


	24. Entrance

Long, warm fingers wrapped around his side as a flat tongue laved, without warning, at the pink bud of John’s right nipple. His light hum of appreciation rapidly devolved into audible breathing, then a series of small moans. 

Sherlock’s tongue swirled counterclockwise, ignoring the peak as he sucked oh-so-faintly, causing John to push up into that unexpectedly talented mouth. 

“More,” he breathed, “god, Sherlock, more.”

As gentle teeth began to pull, he lost track of what was happening elsewhere with his body… until a third finger made its entrance.


	25. Almost

John’s eyes flew open, and he gripped Sherlock’s shoulder hard in surprise.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. I mean it… no,” he exhaled slowly. “Does this mean we’re…. are we almost..”

“Yes, John. We are almost…”

The older man pulled at the pale shoulder beneath his grasp, and Sherlock lifted himself to set them at eye level, sparing one deep kiss before John’s vision was drawn into the black holes of his dilated pupils.

 _Tell me when you’re ready_.

John did not know how someone could be so beautiful. The thought had begun to consume him, until Sherlock grazed his prostate-

“Now… now, Sherlock, please…”


	26. Until

John pretended not to notice the younger - more critically, the inexperienced - man’s quickened breath as he shifted awkwardly to align them. He was nervous himself to be sure, but at least this wasn’t his first sexual encount…  _ It’s his first sexual encounter. It’s his first time, and here I am just lying back watching him. He would never do that to me; he’d never leave me on my own to struggle through this. _

The doctor wrapped his right hand around Sherlock’s thin but surprisingly toned bicep and squeezed reassuringly before sliding it down, past his forearm, over his wrist, to relieve him of his grip on the warm, lightly throbbing cock held up against his body. 

“Kiss me,” John whispered into the distance between them, keeping his pressure on Sherlock’s base while his other hand searched the bed until it encountered, opened, and maneuvered the small bottle of lubricant so that it squirted into his left palm. He  quickly swapped it with his right and began pumping, slow, sure strokes, each one pushing a bit harder against his perfectly stretched hole until--


	27. Hilt

Until Sherlock’s breathing began to grow ragged against his cheek, forehead slipping from where it had lain against John’s onto the pillow beside him, and he began thrusting - lightly, slowly - breaching the first few inches of his captain. 

Stars shot through his vision as the head of his leaking cock penetrated the rings of muscle. Someplace in the distance he heard a shaky exhale, heard a voice murmur, “ok… more…” He felt his trembling legs push him deeper into the unfathomable tightness that was John Watson - exhale, “more,” push, exhale, “more,” push - and then, then he was suddenly sliding in to the hilt. 

John’s legs over his hips, arms and legs trembling visibly from the utter perfection of this man’s body - his lover’s body - wrapped around his and feeling as though it were the only thing that existed in the world.


	28. Now

John released another wavering breath, and this time… this time he was ready. He wanted this - to be surrounded by Sherlock, to be filled with Sherlock, to have his every sense overtaken by-

“Sherlock.” It was a plea in itself. “Sherlock, you can… move. Please. Ple-ahhh… ahh… I…. OH! OH YES! Oh God, I… y-y-yes… keep.... keep on… r-right yesssss YES! Oh GOD, how are you?!” Tears stung the corners of his eyes as they shut tightly, closing out everything in the world except, “SHERLOCK! FUCK SHERLOCK FUCK YES YES! I… I… I can’t… I’m not going to…. m-make it too… fuck FUCK, GOD YES! Sherlock, please…”

“John, I…. nnnggghh…. ugghhh…. I… I c-can’t… much l-long… you… you’re t-too… tight… and I… I… nnnnngggghhhh! What… do you… need…. quick….”

John’s forced his eyes open, and there, above him, was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes, sweating. Sherlock Holmes, flushed in face and chest. Sherlock Holmes, wrecked and looking like the sexiest bloody person he’d ever seen on this planet.

“Give it to me… NOW, Sherlock, fuck, please, NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW!”


	29. Rhythm

John’s last words joined in perfect rhythm with each pump of Sherlock’s body into his own, and finally - just audible above the blood pounding in his own ears - came a deep, primal yell he would never have imagined the posh detective to be capable of. 

Panting breaths, mingling sweat, hard fierce kiss, and momentary oblivion. John came to first and found himself already carding his fingers through the hair matted to the nape of Sherlock’s neck. He laid a light kiss on the detective’s neck, then began to giggle - that carefree sound that only one person in the world could draw from him.

“Mmm?” was the muffled reply of the sated man collapsed half on top of him.

“I was just thinking… Sherlock? I just deflowered you.”

“Jawn,” Sherlock yawned, glancing down at where their bodies had so recently been joined, “I’d say it was rather the other way round.”

John promptly smacked him with a pillow, through which he heard, quite unmistakably, “I love you, too.”


	30. Switch

Their moments of climax were so close as to be essentially simultaneous, as Sherlock would say in retelling - which there would be, as soon as Greg had gotten them properly liquored up, _the lightweights._

John would giggle, but no matter what Sherlock said - and boy, could drunk Sherlock talk - he would deny nothing. There was nothing to deny. The truth was what it was, and what it was, was something John Watson felt quite proud of. A great man, a good man, the world’s only consulting detective, was his own in every way. Well, in every way but one. _Perhaps tonight_ , John thought, _I’ll give it a go._

After all, he had always wondered what it’d be like to look down at Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
